


Trying

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-31
Updated: 2002-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-01 09:31:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/355007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's called Trying because Clark is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying

**Author's Note:**

> I'm indebted to the amazing women at the PPO for their encouragement and editing suggestions. 

## Trying

by Jen K.

<http://www.livejournal.com/users/jen_k>

* * *

Disclaimer: Clark and his issues aren't mine. No copyright infringement is intended. 

Author 

This is for H. 

* * *

Trying

The first real downstroke makes Clark hiss, and oh, he's definitely just been playing until right this second. Teasing himself almost cruelly, his hands taking a gentle walk from his nipples down to his abdomen, a single finger dipping in to his navel, and then he was shivering, wrapping one hand around the length of his cock and yeah, he's really serious about this now. 

The barn is cooler than it's been in days, but it's still humid and there's damp hair in his eyes, worn-thin cotton clinging to his chest. He reaches back behind his head to pull his shirt off, lets it drop on the floor. 

He leans back in the couch and presses his cock into the palm of his hand again, thinking of Chloe during the next full stroke. She'd worn a sundress today and when she caught Pete staring frankly at her breasts she'd made a joke about how the heat brought out her feminine side. A nervous half-joke, like she didn't mind how Pete looked at her, like she wanted him to know that she wanted to be noticed. So Clark tries to notice, now. 

But he can't look at Chloe like Pete does, and right now when he tries to imagine her breasts there's nothing but a blank. He can picture her huge wound-up grin, her withering sidelong glare, the way she shifts her books from one hip to the other while they talk in front of their lockers. He can hear her voice in his head as clearly as he hears the chorus of cicadas outside, but try as he may he can't think of Chloe in a way that can help this process along. 

He sighs and shifts uncomfortably on the couch, fanning his thighs open wider and replacing his faltering grip with a fresh one. Tries Lana instead, the old faithful, and it's so easy, like sliding back into a bad habit. His stroke picks up speed and it's starting to feel good all over now, little shocks tripping up and down the nerves of his arms and legs, somersaulting around in his stomach. 

He can practically feel Lana in his arms, as if he's occupied Whitney's body and held her close a hundred different casual times. He can feel the way she'd lean in while he pulled her slight body towards him, lifting her right off her feet so their mouths could meet evenly. He can imagine in vivid detail the way her arms would wrap around his neck and the scent of her hair flanking both sides of his face as he'd carefully lean in to kiss her closed mouth. 

He's so close now, hips working of their own accord, begging himself for more of the tight grip of his fist, and his own slickness makes it easy to go as fast and hard as he needs. Lana's lips are arched in a gorgeous bow, and the smooth glide of her kisses is delicious. Perfect. 

Too perfect. There's no scar on Lana's upper lip to catch gently between his teeth and worry with his tongue, no hint of too much scotch on her breath, no instinctive flinch in her easy cleave into him. No low voice to whisper in his ear and make his whole body flush, and his brain is screaming that it's wrong to think of Lex like this, but it's too late. It's all for Lex, every last buck of his hips, and he's way past control when the heel of his hand presses up right _there_ and the ache just owns him. 

He wants to sketch the shape of Lex's body into the air in front of him with his free hand, draw the empty space close and fold himself around it, under it, into it. Impossible to resist it now, groaning out loud as he works himself furiously, and he imagines smooth skin meeting his fingertips as he extends one shaking hand into the darkness. 

That's all it takes. He comes hard with a shamed, sobbing groan, hips lifted off the couch and rocking up into the empty Lex-space in front of him, eyes screwed shut against the truth. 


End file.
